Red Carpet
by TenThousandMiles
Summary: As a fashion designer, Klaus Mikaelson is hell of an anomaly for not paying any attention to celebrities. And when the world famous actress Caroline Forbes accidentally barges into his high-end clothing store, he has literally no idea what and who is hitting on him. Klaroline AU. All human. Don't own TVD.


**Hello lovelies!**

 **A (long) while ago I was asked if I would do a celebrity AU and I had a one shot in mind. Now it turns out to be more than just a one shot… well, that's if people like it .**

 **And before you start reading the story, I should apologize ahead for mistakes since English is not my first language.**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

"Are you listening to me?"

He keeps picking on the sequins.

"Are you listening to me, Nik?"

He orderly places the blue sequins on the silver fabric he's chosen, from nighty blue to turquoise, but is left him unsatisfied. Something just seems wrong.

"Nik! _NIK_!"

"I heard you 20 minutes ago, Bekah, I'm afraid all Chicago did and have been listening to your trivial gossiping for far too long," without sparing his baby sister a look, Klaus frowns as he fingers through his loose design drafts in the drawer. He picks up the most crumpled one and examines the gown he drew a year ago.

Hopping off from the front table she's been perching on, Rebekah has now given up yelling at him. She stomps towards the working table her brother is at, pushes the light away abruptly, and lifts the sheet he is agonizingly glaring at, "I can't believe you're still working on this, Nik. You've made at least twenty dresses since putting your _dream dress_ on this bloody paper and none of them met your satisfaction. A fool would've long given up on it."

Seizing the chance as Rebekah sighs, Klaus snatches the paper back in a swift move. He will never admit out loud but deep down he knows his sister is probably right.

Graduated from Parsons School of Design 5 years ago, Klaus Mikaelson, as a young fashion designer with no opportunity and unknown prospect, refused to go back across the pond to where he spent a good part of his childhood and teen years. He didn't gave up Central Saint Martins for Parsons, New York to dance to his parents' tunes after surviving the scorching trials of a design major. Started as an apprentice in a quite famous menswear fashion brand, Klaus has thrived from the once poor graduate to assistant, assistant designer, and eventually designer. With his artistic talent and impeccable aesthetics taste, he could've easily gotten a higher position in that company. In fact, they were offering him a promotion and he was about to accept it before _the dress_ started haunting his dreams.

It started off as a blurry flash of inspiration, only showing different parts of the dress every other night. Then it became more and more solid, gracing him with the whole structure of the blue ball gown. The sweetheart neck, the sparkling satin that went from nighty blue to a barely-there tint of cornflower. He would spring right out of bed to frantically draw in his sketch books once he snapped out of the dreams, trying to capture the lingering fragments of the inspirational dream but never achieved to do the dream dress justice. He tried in vain for weeks until the night when the dream changed. Cladded in the blue gown that had been the sole thing Klaus could think of, day and night, a blonde model with angelic curls and bright smile turned and smiled at him with the shoulder of the blue dress hanging loosely as if about to fall. Her creamy arms were shimmering under the moonlight and was covered in a pair of silver opera-length gloves that were both surprisingly chic and torturously exquisite. The bodice, covered in abundant gems and sequins, hugged the model's curves like a glove and as the dress met her lower waist, it bloomed into layers of puffy skirt with elegant embroidery.

That was the night when Klaus finally got to draw the ball gown right.

The next day Klaus not only rejected the promotion but also left the brand to become a freelance designer. Having finally come up with the perfect draft of his dream dress, it seemed like the purpose of his living was merely to bring that dress to life. The dream with his blonde muse never visited again, and has left Klaus enchanted. He couldn't forget the gorgeous curves of the goddess-like blonde in the dream; he couldn't forget the perfect balance of style and grace; he couldn't forget the shock of pure beauty he felt in the dream. He had to recreate the ball gown, in real life, not just by sketching. He needed to.

He couldn't sleep without reliving that dream; he couldn't eat without comparing the dull colors of his food to the vivid impression the dress in the dream had left on him; he couldn't design without feeling the texture of the fabrics he was sewing and not ask himself what material would suit the dream gown best. It was almost like a long-lasting impulse that kept him going, pushing him to design and make dress after dress in his pursuit of the dream. He found it odd though, during his student days in Parsons he thought- and was confident enough to think- that there was no dress he couldn't make once he'd had the draft out. Yet he just couldn't.

The design of that dress has been lying in his drawer for over 12 months now, and during his chase of realizing the dream he'd made numerous dresses based on the draft but none of them came even close to satisfaction. Things were always wrong- he either couldn't find the correct fabric, didn't match the colors right or just fucked up the pattern. Klaus' siblings are all aware of his pathetic obsession and they often tease him for it, but he isn't planning on quitting yet.

While stubbornly trying to make his dreams come true, Klaus had made other clothes that sold rather well and he has now established his own womenswear brand and store in Chicago, albeit still relatively small and unknown. He does both menswear and womenswear nowadays but to him, they were mere means to keep ends meet, to support himself on his living and his insane pursuit. There were good days and bad days- days when he felt highly inspired and was close to finally creating _the_ masterpiece and days when inspiration is nowhere to be found and his drafts looked no better than an eleven-year-old's doodles. It was on those particularly horrible days with no clients- or even worse, days _with_ demanding clients who thought they were judges on Project Runway but actually had the taste of either a caveman or what Rebekah would call a fashion disaster - no orders and no ideas that would have him relive the dream in his mind, channeling the blonde muse for inspiration.

And there was another odd thing. Despite being sure the girl who modeled his dream dress was a breathtaking beauty, Klaus can never recall how she looked like. No matter how hard he tries, he comes up with nothing.

"Who do you think will win the award? Caroline Forbes, Katherine Pierce or Anastasia Freeman?" It seems like Rebekah has moved on from teasing her brother about his year-long persistence. She inquired with her smartphone in hand, clearly reading a coverage from some online gossip website, "I'm betting on Caroline Forbes. You know how I like her vampire TV series but her attempts on the big screen really blew my mind. I never thought she was the type with real acting talent until her nomination, but she did well in this movie."

Taking it as his cue that he can retreat to working on his dress and pay his sister minimal attention, Klaus buried his head back into sequin sewing again and responds absentmindedly, "for the fourth time since the Golden Globe nominations were announced, Bekah, whoever this year's best supporting actress is has nothing to do with me."

Rebekah rolls her eyes and scoffs, "how can this have nothing to do with you, Nik? You're a fashion designer and awards red carpets are high fashion battlefields every designer with a functioning brain would kill to have their clothes presented on."

"I simply don't see the need to keep track of all the faces and names. The actresses are all going to fade in a few years once the media find new ones to prey on," Klaus defended matter-of-factly, his head not rising from the sea of glittering blue on his working desk, "and if they want my clothes, they come to me, not the other way around. The time some designers spend on flattering and chasing after celebrities can be used more efficiently if they spend it on actually designing and making clothes."

Rebekah shakes her head at her brother's flowing ego, "yeah, yeah, get over yourself Nik. All you care about is that faceless blonde muse and your cyber dress. You should really pay attention to celebrities and awards like this if you want your brand to soar."

"Bekah, the door is just a few steps away if you're going to lecture me in fashion marketing," Klaus finally looks up from the sewing machine, his face blank with a pointed glare.

Annoyed, the female Mikaelson grumbled while fetching her clutch and car key, "fine. You continue being a stubborn arse and I will gloat with a cup of Starbucks when you and your brand drives away your last client with your prickliness."

* * *

The door opened as Klaus puts the last roll of fabric away.

"We're closed," he announces, sneaking a glance at the clock on the wall. Half past nine on a Friday night sounds like a good excuse for a bar getaway, not that self-employed as Klaus needs one to go on an alcohol spree.

And the most melodic voice he's heard in years reached his ears, "Oh, I'm so, so sorry but could you please wait for another 15 minutes? I really, really need to get a new dress for this party tomorrow."

Klaus turns to look at source of the voice, only to face a woman with a head of heavenly blonde curls. Having taken off her face-covering huge sunglasses (who wears bloody sunglasses at night?), she is now looking at him expectantly with a smile that says she's confident she'll eventually get what she wants. Cladded in white see-through T-shirt and pale-washed boyfriend jeans, her make-up seems a little dramatic for such a simple but chic look, as if she's just changed into casual clothing after finishing whatever required that heavy smoky eyes and rouge lips.

Usually, Klaus is not the kind of guy who slows down his pace for any pretty face he encounters- especially not when he's planning on drowning in booze- but the gorgeous blonde (with too much make-up on) makes him not the usual Klaus today.

Klaus feigns hesitation and looks between the clock and her face several times before giving in with his smile, dimples on full force, "I guess the scotch I've been eagerly looking forward to can wait for another quarter or two."

"Thank you for the big hand!" The blonde grins and immediately turns to the clothes that are hanging along the walls, "you have no idea how this last minute party notice is driving me nuts. I mean, if they're not aware that I'm not a fan of surprises or pop-up invitations, then those dudes should really consider a new job. I thought my reputation as a control freak is as wide-spread as Taylor Swift's break up news. You know, like, nation-wide. Anyways, so I was informed about this party tomorrow just an hour ago, and guess what? Of course all the clothing stores choose to close early- well not so early since it's Friday night- when the short notice caught me off guard and I have no nice outfit to wear. And then I saw your store glowing light from the inside and seemed still open so I had to come in and give it a try."

Klaus listens as her mouth shoots out her anxiety like a machine gun while she fingers, with polished French nails, through the one-pieces he tailored a few weeks ago. He can't help but chuckle and be drawn a bit more to her endearing babbling.

"Shit, I'm rambling again, right?" Alarmed by Klaus' silent chuckles, she turns and gives him an apologetic smile, "sorry, days of catnaps and caffeine make me super hyper and anxious. Work has been driving me crazy, and the party had to add itself into the equation."

"No worries, love," he shrugs and takes a step towards her, "now how about you tell me what style of outfit you're looking for and I can give you some advice on my pieces, just to have your nerves eased sooner?"

The blonde raises her perfectly shaped brows as if impressed and surprised, "you made all this?"

"I'm the owner and designer of this store. My brand."

"Wow. You're damn good, I have to say- not because you delayed your drinking getaway for me, I mean it-and that's a lot coming from me. I've seen my fair share of clothes," she winks, which gives Klaus a strange feeling. The amount of confidence the girl is oozing should make anyone seem arrogant but the way she wears it makes him believe she deserves it.

The girl unhooks a denim jumpsuit and shows it to Klaus, "I'm looking for something like this, classy and feminine but still fun. Maybe not as casual though, should be a semi-formal occasion."

Klaus nods and glanced around the room, "hmm, I do have a black and gold backless cocktail dress that sounds about right but I'm afraid it's going to be too small for you since you're quite tall…"

He jogs around his working table to the wardrobe and fumbles through his freshly finished pieces. After a while of contemplating, Klaus hands the blonde a fuchsia satin dress with Queen Anne neckline, "try this on, we have a makeshift fitting room over there."

* * *

"So, I'm Klaus, you?" He initiates the conversation as he rearranges the wardrobe, not feeling content to let the shuffling sound from the fitting room take over.

The silence is longer than it should be before the girl's heavenly voice rings again, hesitantly, "what, you don't know me?"

It takes Klaus a moment or two to let the question he just heard sink in. What kind of question is that? "Should I?"

"But I thought you only agreed to let me in the closed store and wait the extra 15 minutes so I can get my dress because I am… _uh_ , me." The girl in the fitting room laughs, a tint of astonishment laced in her tone.

"I merely did it because I'm willing to spend a pleasant 15 minutes with a stunningly beautiful lady."

"Oh. Uh, thanks, for the compliment. Wait," the girl and the sound of fabric confliction pause for a heartbeat. Klaus can practically see her contemplating in that mere second, "so you really have no idea who I am? Not that you should but people usually do. Ugh, I sound like a delusional, proud narcissist but I promise I'm not."

Having finished all of the tidying routine before closing the store, Klaus now has nothing to do besides helping the blond bombshell find her last minute party dress. He stalks towards the fitting room and holds before the proximity between him and the room becomes worse than appropriate. He coughs, just to give his customer a not-so-silent heads up about their distance now. "No, I really don't. Why do you assume I know?"

The girl doesn't seem to mind. "Erm, well since you're a designer and my work has a lot to do with clothes and fashion, and I know several designers myself so I hasted and jumped to the wrong conclusion. My bad, sorry."

"No need to be, sweetheart. So I take it you also work in the fashion industry?" "Umm, not really… my job is… kind of complicated. Wow, you really have no idea who I am!" She exclaimed on the other side of the door, he voice a picture of a little girl with a fascinating toy.

Judging by her tone, Klaus has a feeling that this rarely happens. Months later, this will have become a hilarious memory and he will be deriding himself for not putting 2 and 2 together. Not that he knows anything about famous people but, alas, he should have clicked. Unfortunately, it isn't until a few weeks later that he realizes the blonde changing in his ragged fitting room- hey, his customer usually comes to him way before the time they need their couture to have them tailored, so no one except Rebekah really uses it, okay?- happens to be one of the most well-known up-and-coming young actress who has starred in several TV series and a few blockbuster movies. So instead of confirming his complete ignorance to her prestige for the third time, he suggested flirtatiously, "maybe you could help the poor lad out and give him your name now?"

"Right, the name's Caroline. Caroline Forbes."

"Caroline. Beautiful name."

She comes out of the fitting room, the dress hugging her curves and displaying just the right amount of cleavage and long legs. She has to make, sure as if she thinks he's somehow lying or mocking, "so that doesn't sound familiar to you? My name?"

"Caroline, the world might seem small and the world of fashion even smaller, but being a designer really doesn't make me know every relevant person in the industry." Klaus smirks as he gives her an once-over. She looks better than he imagined she'd be in the dress. No, in fact, she makes the dress look better with her in it. "You look ravishing."

"Thank you." Caroline grins, a gleam of amusement shinning in her crystal blue eyes, "I like your designs, and this dress. Do you take credit cards?"

"Yes we do, I'm glad you like my work. I just had it done yesterday." He shoots her a smug smirk, pride gushing. "Would you like me to wrap the dress up for you?"

"Sure. I'll just go take it off," Caroline's smile-mysterious smile- widens as she retreats into the fitting room.

Klaus is preparing the bags and wrapping papers and ribbons that the wrapping SOP requires when Caroline peeks out of the fitting room, poking only her head out with a grin from ear to ear like a kid who's just found a new friend, "oh and Klaus? I like you as well."

* * *

 **Please review so I know if I should keep developing the story!**


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